


Your Man

by buttcushions



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I just wanted some pickup truck and country music loving okay?, M/M, country!au, i might change that, southern!au, thor is actually called theo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcushions/pseuds/buttcushions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garnett it seemed was a world of its own. Theo had lived there all his life, and he was sure just about everyone else in the town did, too. No one ever came, and no one ever left. That’s just the way it was, natural as the northern pintails and the red mud that caught between your toes. </p><p>Thorki country!au in which Loki is a city boy and Thor is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Man

**Author's Note:**

> I intend to get a few chapters in here, but I can't guarantee they'll be any good. Hell, I can't guarantee that _this_ will be any good. Anyhow, there will be some gay in the future, as well as some fluff, and perhaps a touch of drama. 
> 
> Thanks to crazyglambert for beta'ing this  
> Let me know if there was a fuck-up neither of us detected

Garnett it seemed was a world of its own. Theo had lived there all his life, and he was sure just about everyone else in the town did, too. No one ever came, and no one ever left. That’s just the way it was, natural as the northern pintails and the red mud that caught between your toes. When he was younger with his wild golden hair, he reckoned people in Garnett just sprung up like swamp mallows and then withered away when they got too old. His ma laughed at the notion, telling him he’d understand one day, but not anytime soon.

She was right. He hadn’t found out much about babies until the seventh grade when some girl a few years above him got pregnant with the high school halfback’s child.   
“It’s ‘cause they _did_ it,” his friend Ike Fandral had told him. “That’s what my daddy said.”

Some four years later, Theo kept in his mind full well that people could come and go from Garnett, and about sex. Despite this, Theo was still thoroughly surprised when he saw a new face in the local Ma and Pa’s diner where they served sweet tea in mason jars to the local kids for free during the hottest days of the summer. He wasn’t from around the area, that was for sure, maybe not even from the entire state of North Carolina.

“What’s with him?” he had asked the old waitress, Mae as he walked in. Her apron was stained with pan gravy.

She shifted her hold on the bussing plate, “I don’t know, Theo, but I don’t much like the looks of him. Talks like a northerner,” she had said in a hushed whisper, “‘s cold like one, too.” He nodded in response, though not truly agreeing. “He dresses real odd. Boys don’t wear jeans that tight, or scarves either. I know you’re gon’ talk to him, but don’t do much more than that.”

He laughed, “You don’t gotta worry about me, I can take good care of myself. I’m going to take a seat by the bar, if you don’t mind.” He hardly had to ask. He had been going here since before he could stand on his own two feet, and the diner itself had been there much longer than even that. The owners trusted him enough to taken a biscuit from the pastry counter, not even asking him to pay. He asked for the seat all the same.

The northerner sat two seats from him, and from where he sat, Theo could finally get a good look at him. He was paler and skinnier than any other boy in Garnett, and his hair was just as black, trimmed right below his ear. A good deal about him was sharp; his nose, cheeks and slender fingers that tapped away at his phone, unaware of just about anything else going on around him.

Theo waved, “Hi.” The northerner didn’t respond. “Hi, there,” he repeated.

He looked up with expressionless eyes, save for a bit of annoyance, “yes?”

“Well, I take it you’re new around here and thought to introduce myself,” he said, holding out his hand, “I’m Theo.”

The man shook it as if it were made of poison oak, “Locke. Pleased to meet you.” His expression suggested otherwise.

Theo swallowed. No one he knew acted this sour. “I’ve never heard of that name before. It fits you, I suppose.”

The northerner- Locke laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sort, “Why ever would that be?”

“Because you seem different to me.” Theo regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He had once been fishing down by Bartlett’s Creek some summers back. The fish weren’t biting and so he took instead to watching the frogs hunt for Jesus bugs. They all were still on the water’s still surface, feet making tiny dips where they stood when one had skidded over thoughtlessly. The frog took a second’s glance and its dart tongue reached out and snatched it up and ate it whole. Theo had never once before felt more like that damned Jesus bug.

Locke smiled at the comment and rose from his barstool. He was taller than he looked sitting. “Theo—Theo, was it? You’re quite right, I am different. I am not like your country folk, nor do I ever wish to be. Do you understand?”

He thought to insist that he meant different in a good way but instead nodded, “I do.” Theo watched as the northerner placed a rumpled 20 on the countertop and made for the door. 

“I’m staying in this damnable ghost town until the summer ends, against my will mind you, and then I shall be leaving. I hope to avoid picking up any of your Nicholas Sparks southern charm.” 

Theo didn’t quite get the reference, though he assumed the joke was at his expense. “There’s going to be a county fair the town over this Saturday, if you were thinking of something to do,” he called anyhow to Locke’s back right as he pushed through the door, “You don’t need to be one of us country folk to enjoy it, promise.” He paused. “Where are you from, anyhow?” 

Locke turned around, “New York,” and he was gone.

Theo wasn’t sure why he even thought to tell Locke of the fair, but his gut told him to anyhow. His ma always scolded him for acting on his intuition, got him into the worst sorts of trouble. He had been walking once down a busy avenue when he came across a bird wounded on the asphalt. He dashed out to save it, dodging between honking tows and pick-ups. When he came home with the the bird, his mother merely tutted. “You’re going to end up dead on Russet street one day, Theo Odinson, just ‘cause your brain thought it was a good idea to run across during heavy traffic,” she told him. This wasn’t like that, though. For whatever odd reason, Theo had taken a liking to the callous manner about this Locke, New Yorker, northerner, wearer of marvelously tight pants.


End file.
